Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 75792 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75792 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
My nostrils flare. She’s hit a chord. I’ve tried so long to deny it, to keep it hidden, but it’s futile. I want her. I need her to be mine. I cannot stand being apart from her. Every second is too much. “Because I needed you to be safe. Because I needed you …”
“But you didn’t even know me,” she scoffs, glancing at me over her shoulder.
“Yes,” I say, swallowing hard. “Yes, I do.”
She turns around, and we stare at each other for a moment. The silence is deafening, and my throat begins to clamp up.
“Do you remember that day you went to visit a funeral with your grandparents? They were old friends of my father. An urn of a young woman sat on the table there, and in front stood a boy you talked to?”
Her eyes widen. Pupils dilated. Skin turned white as snow. And while the rain scatters droplets across her skin, our seemingly separate worlds suddenly come crashing together.
Her lips part, rain and tears mixing together while they roll down her cheeks as one. Her hand rises, and I’m expecting a slap. Instead, it’s the gentlest of touches that bring warmth in the frigid cold, setting my heart ablaze.
“It’s you … you were that boy, weren’t you?” she murmurs.
I nod as I clutch her hand. “We met because we were supposed to. I knew then I was going to find you again. And I did, thanks to that money your grandparents gave to our House as a gift.”
Her lips part in shock. “So that’s where the money went.”
I frown and swallow, as my words have weighed heavily on me for a while. “I waited for a long time, but I couldn’t stop thinking about you. The books my father kept were the only place I’d find a trace of your grandparents … and with that information, I was finally able to track you down.”
I tilt my head down. “That day, at my mother’s funeral, you saved me from myself … so I came to save you in return.”
She swallows, visibly shaken, as though she too is contemplating what it means to love. What it means to hate. And all the complicated emotions between. And maybe, just maybe, we are both finally realizing what it means to be alive.
Chapter 10
Amelia
This silent moment in time feels like it lasts for an eternity. No matter how much I try, I can’t look away from him, and neither can he.
As he stands there with his head between his broad shoulders, black suit completely wet, white shirt clinging to his abs, I finally see the truth. It’s him, that boy with the solemn eyes. How could I not see that before?
All this time, I wondered why I felt as though I knew him, why it felt as though our worlds had entwined before. Why it felt like I wasn’t merely a random choice that he made.
He’s not just the man who stalked me, captured me, took me to his castle, and forced me to remember sins I wished I hadn’t committed. He’s also the boy drowning in sorrow and misery, as I was too a long time ago. And that same innocent boy and girl grew up to become monsters shaped by their own vision of the world and the people who lived there. Two sides to the same coin.
“I always felt like I knew you, somehow …” I mutter, my hand still on his face, unable to let go of the moment that feels so important, so precious. “Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask.
I wish he would’ve told me about my grandparents being connected to all this. That they’d given this House the money they should’ve given me.
But I know I can’t blame Eli either. After all, it was their choice to give that money away.
“I mean, not just my grandparents giving their money to your House but also the fact you already knew me before we met at the library?”
“I …” He looks away for a second, as though he’s conflicted. “I didn’t want to be seen as weak.”
“Weak?” The way he says it, as though his heart is being twisted into knots, undoes me. I remember that boy standing in front of his mother’s urn, wishing he was born into a different family. “No, you weren’t weak. You were surviving through suffering.”
His face contorts. “I despise my own history. I prefer not to talk about it.”
“Is that the reason you want to punish others? Because of your own pain?” I ask.
“Perhaps.” He sighs. “But it doesn’t matter. What matters now is that I have you back safe and sound.” He takes my hand off his face and presses a kiss to the top. “You were always my little angel.”
Angel? Me?
Blood and stab wounds aren’t caused by angels. They’re the work of the devil.